


Milathos drabbles

by arlesanna



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlesanna/pseuds/arlesanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drabbles I write on tumblr for prompts. Some are juicier then others but nothing major.<br/>tumblr name if you want to submit smth: sweetlycasualdragon</p><p>UPD Chapter 15 added (sequel to chapters 4&5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Anonymous asked: Ooh, and another Milathos prompt; 'Porthos had never heard Athos make a joke about his sex life before'.**

 

“Once we did it in thebathtub… In a female-only establishement.” 

Another round of laughter from his friends followed. Having Athos be appointed Captain surely had it’s perks. The weekly tradition of getting together in his office was certainly one of them. Loud and noisy Taverns were forgotten: the office was private and the exitement of being able to discuss any matters without the chance of being overheard was still fresh.

“Porthos. How unchivalrious of you.” Athos, very much comfortable in his own chair, his feet propped up on the table, snorted with an amused smile.

“Come on!” Porthos sat down on the same very table, leaning towards Aramis who was reclining on the plush sofa – also a recent addition to the room. “I’m sure our friend Aramis here has even less chivalrious tales to tell. Spill, man, what was the least unconventional place you did it in?”

“Er… The convent?”

“I think in that particular case it was the “who” he did it with that really counted as unconventional.” D’Artagnan cut in from his favourite windowsill location.

“Am I ever going to live this down?”

“As in the guy who upstaged doing it in a convent by doing it in a convent with the Queen? I don’t think so.” Porthos smugly twisted his moustache and doged the pillow flying at him from the couch.

“Let him be, Porthos. You might make him take a run for the convent again and I need him in the garrison.”

That was the moment Aramis had had enough.

“Really, Athos? Well let me tell you - I don’t mind taking the mockery for my adventures. At least I have some… Had some.”

“Oooh. This is getting interesting.” D’Artagnan propped himself up on the windowsill.

“And you would assume that I have none for which reason exactly?”

“For the obvious one. Since Milady got back nothing seems to have changed between you two. It must be a long sad, lonely dry spell, my friend.”

“Hm.” Athos pursed his lips in a content smile.

“He has a point, Athos. The only thing new in your life is that sofa.” Porthos shrugged sympathetically. “We should take you out or something. You can’t go on like this, it’s not heatly.”

“Thank you, Porthos, that’s very thoughtful of you.” 

D’Artagnan felt more then guessed something was off. Maybe it was the strange expression Athos’s face held, maybe it was all the wine, but suddenly the dots connected in his head.

“Wait. Guys… Look at it this way: Milady comes back…” There was an air of suspence in the room as three pair of eyes focused on the younger Musketeer. “The sofa appears.”

“What do you… Oh!” Aramis jumped off the sofa as soon as realization hit him. “You didn’t!” he tried to stare Athos down.

An enigmatic smile gave him all the answeres he was dreading to hear.

“Really, Athos! Good for you!” Porthos exclaimed happily.

Athos’s gaze shifted from the sofa to the table Porthos was sitting on. There was a vertain wistfullness in his eyes. A wistfullness that made Porthos get off the table with lightning speed.

“Seriously?” Porthos asked and Athos shrugged casually, not saying a word.

“Is the windowsill safe at least?” Came the voice from the back of the room. An arched eyebrow from Athos and D’Artagnan joined his friends in the center of the office, careful not to brush against any surface.

“We’re going back to the Tavern. This…” Aramis morioned vaguely around the four of them. “Is never happening here again. Not while the other thing is… happening here.” Stern looks from Porthos and D’Artagnan showed they were with Aramis on that one.

“What thing? I didn’t say anything.” Athos retorted, getting up and getting hid sword. “To the Tavern then, shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**One of the Musketeers catching Milathos in flagrante delicto. Whichever Musketeer you want, i think their reactions would all be funny.**

Porthos knocked the door to the Captains office andregretted it immediately.

Milady was sitting on the table, right where he himself wassitting last night with her back to him. The back was arched, her gorgeous hair falling down in waves and Porthos caught himself staring for a moment.  She was a deadly creature, beautiful like most dangerous things.

“Whoever it is he can’t talk to you right now.” Milady’s raspy voice broke his reverie.

There was no sight of Athos so Porthos found himself asking:

“I’m sorry do you know where I could find him?” 

“Oh he is right… Here… Just busy.” Her words came out in gasps and something didn’t quite add up.

Then it dawned on him. God. That wasn’t done. He couldn’t believe his own filthy mind. No way. Surely…

“Yes, Porthos, this is exactly what you’re thinking now please leave.” She finally snapped and he hurried to get out of that unholy room.

Oh my. That didn’t just happen. Athos wouldn’t… No self-respecting man would… Need to find Aramis. Oh, here he is.

“Aramis!”

“Yes, Porthos?”

“Come, now there’s something I need to ask you…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Anonymous asked: Milathos prompt; Athos has some certain... preferences that only she knows about.**

D’Artagnan was suspicious.

Since Milady left Athos wasn’t the same. Now only was he broodier then normal but there was also the eating problem. Well, it’s wasn’t really a problem, more of an oddity. Suddenly all their joint dinners began to take place in a Tavern called “The Hungry Lion” and nowhere else. And during those dinners Athos devoured his meal exactly like a hungry lion, enjoying the food more than D’Artagnan seen him ever before. So it was no wonder he was suspicious. Suspicious and determined to find out what the deal was.

He eyed the waitress as they ordered dinner and after a couple of minutes excused himself to the bathroom, leaving his friends to have their usual chatter.

Careful not to be noticed he stepped into the dim corridor on the way to the kitchen. He could see the cook gathering their food on a tray - tonight it was lamb stew and all four plates were filled from the same huge casserole. The waitress took the tray and carefully moved towards him, as D’Artagnan stepped deeper into the shadow. And then it happened.

His suspicion was confirmed: something was off. The waitress stopped halfway, putting her tray on a table just outside the kitchen and carefully added a generous pinch of some red powder into one of the plates. Using a spoon she stirred the contents and as she was putting the spoon away and gathering the tray D’Artagnan was already on the way to his seat.

He politely nodded and smiled to his friends jokes as he watched the approaching waitress from the corner of the eye.

“I’ll have that one, thank you” he snatched the plate she was planning to put in front of Athos from her hands. Well, he tried to because she was gripping it quite tightly, giving him a scared, but very determined look:

“I’m sorry, sir, but this one is meant for this sir here.”

She tried to pull the plate from his hands, but D’Artagnan stood his ground:

“I like the look of it. You don’t mind, do you, Athos?”

Athos shrugged, as unamused as ever.

“It’s same stew for everyone, isn’t it?”

“Well apparently not - it appears you have special treatment.” The fact that the waitress was still resisting him was proof enough.

“Let him have the plate please, we are all starving!” Porthos cut in and the girl reluctantly let go.

Athos got another plate and D’Artagnan watched him carefully as he tasted his food.

Suddenly his face showed utter surprise, followed by disappointment. Another spoonful of stew disappeared and D’Artagnan could tell Athos was not as ecstatic about the food as on the previous evenings. So maybe it was the powder that made the difference?

He gathered a large spoon of stew from the plate he won earlier and sent it into his mouth.

He regretted it a second later. It felt like his whole tongue and throat were on fire. He managed to swallow the food but soon his friends noticed something was off:

“you alright, D’Artagnan?” Aramis asked carefully as D’Artagnan felt his eyes water. He needed a drink, he needed to breathe, he needed to never have to taste anything like this ever again.

“Yes… I’m… Fine…” He caught the waitress passing by and stood up, towering over her: “What is this thing?”

He only wished he wasn’t in such a pitiful state of watery eyes and running nose.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Sir.” This waitress was a tough one.

“Are you aware that you tried to poison the Captain of the King’s musketeers?!” D’Artagnan raised his voice, getting strange glances from his mates.

“Don’t!” He hissed as Porthos tried to take a spoon from his plate. “Trust me, you will regret it.”

“What’s going on here?” Now it was Athos’s turn to stand up and face the scared waitress. “What is he talking about?”

“She said it wasn’t poison, she said you would like it!”

“Who did?” Athos asked, already half-knowing the answer.

“The dark-haired lady. Very beautiful. Came here a couple of weeks ago. She paid me handsomely to add this to your food.” The waitress provided the packet with the offensive red power to Athos. “I never knew it was poison! I’d never do it! But I swear she said to put it in the food of the Musketeer named Athos! She said if I did he will come to dine here often - and she was right - you did come here every night! I’m so sorry, please forgive me sir!”

Athos was busy sniffing the packet.

“So I guess we all know who the dark-haired beautiful poisoner is, right?” D’Artagnan was angry beyond his control: “Can you believe this Athos? After everything to try and poison you?”

“You think Milady did this?” Porthos was still getting the gist of the situation.

“Who else! Even as she’s gone we have to watch out backs. It’s unbelievable!” D’Artagnan spat, sitting down.

“You can go.” Athos said to the waitress quietly and she took her chance to hurry away.

“You’re just going to let her go? No punishment?”

“It wasn’t poison. Would you exchange plates with me please?”

“What was it then? Huh?” D’Artagnan did take Athos’s plate and was now able to enjoy his normal stew.

“Spices. Indian. Very expensive. I wonder where she got them.” Athos tried his stew and closed his eyes in ecstasy.

“So nice of your wife to take care of your dinners while she’s gone” Aramis teased carefully, wondering whether it was still too early to make jokes on the subject.

“Very nice indeed.” Athos nodded and suddenly his whole face lit up. “And this would mean that she knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I might have to stay here to do my duty.”

“Stay here as opposed to?” Aramis raised his eyebrow, looking at Athos carefully. 

“To be honest I don’t understand what’s going on here! What does it all mean?” Porthos exclaimed - the events of the last couple of weeks were truly a mystery to him.

“It means she knew. It means… It means I will see her again.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Would love it if you wrote something Milathos jealous!Athos. Take that any way you will.**

It’s early morning and it’s still dark and it’s cold, wind biting, finding it’s way under the thick leather jacket he’s wearing. The camp is quiet - no one stays out late these days, especially in such weather. “Well, almost no-one”, he thinks as he clutches the letters in his hand tighter as if they were precious gems. Truth be told in their current situation they were even more then precious gems, carrying with them not only the secrets the paper held, but also the courage,the skill and the utter recklessness of the person who risked their life getting them. “So damn stubborn. And so damn stupid.” He thinks angrily as he walks through the camp, hiding the letters away from the damp air. He’s changed in the last months. All of them did. The air is wet and unforgiving, and it’s half-raining, half-weeping for the number of souls lost around here lately. “Or freed”, Porthos thinks as he slips inside the Captain’s tent.

“There you are. I remember sending for you hours ago.” Athos wraps him in a friendly hug and he reciprocates and he makes sure his friend The Captain doesn’t notice he is in fact a bit reluctant.

“I had something to finish up.” Vague enough. He hopes to get down to business, but Athos gets down to business first.

“So I hear you’ve become close friends with my wife.” The words hang between them and they hit just the right spot inside him and Porthos is instantly angry with all the things he wants to say, but instead he puts on a friendly smirk Athos knows so well. No need for animosity between them at this time.

“Your wife, huh? No, Athos. I’m friends with Milady. Not with your wife.”

The smirk he has worked out alright, but the biting tone of his words gives him away.

“Since when is semantics so important to you, Porthos?”

There are so many things wrong with that sentence and Athos knows it. There are so many reasons to start an argument here and now but Porthos doesn’t.

“She is one of us now, Athos. She lives with us, she eats with us, she fights this war just like we do. She’s our mate one way or another. There’s nothing more to it.”

“It’s funny you would say that while I have to hear from one of the red guards that they saw my friend Porthos in a tavern in town. Kissing the spy woman.”

The silence in the room is heavy and Athos’s eyes are dark and heavier, but Porthos has all the reasons in the world not to back off, his anger well and firmly in place.

“That might have happened too.”

 Two forces are clashed in the tent: hot and cold, both angry and raw, it’s a wonder how quickly the friendly conversation turned into this… It could be called a war, except it’s not. It’s a storm that might pass. Or it could unravel into the tempest none of them will go away unharmed from.

“Care to elaborate on that one?”

“Care to explain why it would matter to you?”

“Porthos…”

Porthos can tell his friend is tired. They all are. Porthos can also tell his friend wants to avoid the tempest, but he himself is too far gone.

“Would it make it better if I told you the truth? That she’s the best fucking wingman I’ve had in years? That a trip to the tavern with her on my arm draws so much attention to me, that when she fakes a passionate argument and storms out leaving me alone there, about five girls start seeking my attention right that instant?”

“So that’s what it was, huh?” Athos sounds relieved and Porthos just gets angrier. “A fake scene for your benefit? Fake’s her thing, I get it my friend. Not that I condone it.”

“It seems to me you are relieved?”

“I am. I was worried about you.”

“If that’s what you tell yourself.” It comes out as an unfriendly grumble as Porthos continues, his voice gaining strength and getting sharper by the word: “But maybe, just maybe I should tell you the whole truth, huh? Paint you the whole fucking picture?”

Athos is bristled up now, his expression guarded, all remains of his lazy sarcasm wiped from his face and Potrhos takes cruel pleasure in it.

“So there is more to it in the end?” The iciness of Athos’s tone is meant to be piercing, but it sizzles against the heat of Porthos’s ire, causing no harm.

“Isn’t there always more to it when she’s involved?” He really shouldn’t play with Athos like this, but tonight, just tonight he lets himself enjoy the flickers of raw vulnerability seen through the creaks in Athos’s armour.

Another silence falls. Porthos waits and Athos is calculating his next move. Porthos knows his friend believes that his words would determine the destiny of their friendship so he is busy choosing them carefully, but he doesn’t care because he has no plan of letting Athos speak whatever words he would come up with.

“Like for example the fact that she left me in the Tavern to have fun with the girls or so I thought. Instead she played me for a fool and rode off to the Spanish camp. Alone. With no backup and no one knowing she ever went. With no one to care if she never made it back. With no one to come looking for her if something happened. She even made sure I’d be too busy to check up on her when I got back to the camp which I was. That woman is so fucking stubborn!”

“Where is she?” Athos cuts in and he suddenly looks older and his face is lined with worry. Porthos shoots him a heavy glare and watches his friend grip the back of the chair so hard his knuckles go white. He knows he’s being merciless, but it’s for the greater good or at least that’s what he tells himself. He holds on to the silence for as long as he can before replying:

“Who knows where she is now. I’m not someone she bothers to report to and neither are you. But half an hour ago she was in my tent and she asked to pass these on to you.”

He watches relief wash over Athos’s sharp features as he drops the letters on the table between them. He knows there’s so much more between them now then ever before, separating them, pulling them apart, and he also knows that right now Athos doesn’t see it, joyful for the danger for her to have passed, thankful for this moment of dread to be over.

“Thank you, Porthos. Tell her that next time she could bring those in person.”

The cold sarcasm settles on Athos’s face and in his voice again, a comfortable mask or a cage from which Porthos can’t help but desire to tear his friend’s soul out for good.

“You know why I fight this war, Athos? I don’t do it for France. France didn’t give me a silver spoon at birth, my French father abandoned my mother when I wasn’t even born and France let me grow up with a band of thieves and criminals because France didn’t even care to know I ever existed. I made me. I changed my destiny. France had nothing to do with it. I fight this war for my mates. So that D’Artagnan can go home to his beautiful wife. So that Aramis can know his illicit son destined to be the future king of France is safe. I fight this war for you, I fight for all my friends, my past and future lovers and my wife I will probably meet someday when I’m back in Paris. I fight for the woman you call your wife too. The woman who is only here for your sake because she has no care in the world for France. The woman who left her for once peaceful life in England and came back here. For you. To help you. To make sure you make it out alright. To watch your back. The woman, who is sure you don’t care about her. While you are here making a big deal with me about a stupid kiss she is out there risking her life. Every day. Every hour. Every fucking second and I… And I see that she doesn’t have a care in the world for her own life too. That woman… That girl out there is damn beautiful and she has enough wits for the whole garrison and she has enough courage for this whole war camp, but she is reckless. And she is reckless because of you. You, who has it all, who was born with that silver spoon stuffed in your mouth and threw it all away just because you could. You, who has friends to care about, friends you wouldn’t want to upset by dying. I’ve seen you fight, Athos, you watch yourself. You watch yourself for all of us, and you do it for her. You damn well know what your death would do to her. And I’ve seen her in action and she doesn’t watch herself for anyone. She is damn lucky that one, but one day her luck will run out and she won’t come back and it will be your fault. You might think yourself a dead man walking for all the suffering life dealt you, but trust me Athos, you don’t know what a dead man walking is. But you will know if you let this girl’s death be on you this time around. And then I… We all will lose you too.”

A new kind of silence falls between them. Athos’s face is unreadable and Porthos feels like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. He should be relieved, but instead he feels exhausted and worn out, his ire gone, evaporated, his fire extinguished. He must have crossed any line there ever was just now but he is happy he did. Maybe it will save her life. Maybe it will save Athos’s life along the way. He turns around and leaves without another word, without waiting for Athos’s reply, knowing he doesn’t have it in him to continue this conversation if need be.

It’s already light outside as he emerges from the Captain’s tent and the sun is out, drops of water shining like diamonds on tent roofs. The camp is waking up and there’s life around him, life that goes on in spite of the war and the pain and for once he feels hope.

* * *

Milady should be alarmed when someone enters her tent, but his smell lets her know she doesn’t have to attack. For which she is eternally grateful as her body is sore from riding all night, from a couple of blows she missed, blocking deadlier ones, from all the wear and tear she’s been subjecting it to lately. She knows he is here to thank her for the letters, but she doesn’t have the energy for hearing his however heartfelt, but unnecessary gratitude. He knows why she’s here, thanking her is only rubbing it in and it would be unkind. He must know that too.

It surprises her when he doesn’t speak. It surprises her more, when strong arms wrap around her form and she’s lifted from the poor excuse of a bed she’s sleeping on, still clad in her clothes as she had no energy in her to undress properly. She accepts it nonetheless, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carries her out of the tent. The light annoys her and she hides her tired face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his smell and letting herself get carried away… Quite literally.

“You are aware that I am not sleeping?” She finally murmurs into his skin, her voice proving that she is in fact half-asleep.

“It’s no wonder given that your bed is non-existent.” He is blatantly ignoring the fact that she was perfectly asleep before he dragged her out of said non-existent bed. Again, quite literally.

They reach his tent and he places her on his own bed. It’s soft and quite large and she is too exhausted to question the bed or his motives. He proceeds to remove her clothes carefully and she tries to help, but she is too weak, too sleepy to be graceful about it or to be helpful at all and she dreams he laughs softly at her clumsiness, except it’s Athos. He never laughs anymore.

Soon she’s covered by a blanket, a real one, warm and heavy and she’s drifting away once again. There’s a rustling and a creak of leather and she feels his weight join her on the bed and then she wonders if it’s real or maybe… maybe she didn’t really make it back to the camp. Maybe she didn’t actually block those deadly blows and is lying somewhere in the mud, dead and motionless while her soul imagines itself in the best kind of heaven, the only kind of heaven she’s ever known, pressed against his scorching hot body in their bed. She feels a light kiss on the back of her neck and an arm slides around her waist and she knows she doesn’t really care which one it is. She will sleep now.

* * *

It’s time for the daily afternoon meeting at the Captain’s tent and Porthos finds himself reluctant to go. He checked her tent and she’s gone again. She should be sleeping after the night she had but of course the silly girl is not. He doesn’t have it in him to be angry again, but he is worried and he has no desire at all to face Athos again today. He must, though, so he enters the Captain’s tent, joining Aramis and D’Artagnan there.

“Athos?” D’Artagnan calls impatiently, looking around the tent. Either the captain isn’t here at all, or he is in another part of the tent meant to serve as a bedroom.

“Maybe we should check the training field?” Aramid suggests because there’s no reason in the world the Captian would be in bed this late in the afternoon.

“It’s strange, we always meet here at midday, he couldn’t have forgotten.” D’Artagnan argues, suspicious as always.

“Would you be quiet!” Athos grumbles as he comes out of the private part of the tent, closing his vest. “My wife is sleeping.”

There’s a stunned silence and Porthos can’t help grinning from ear to ear:

“You wife, huh?”

The next thing he knows is that he’s caught in his friend’s tight embrace which speaks louder then words and this time he returns the hug freely and happily.

“Shall we take this outside then?” Aramis suggests and they do.

Outside it’s already hot and the sun is shining and Porthos finds himself thinking they all might just make it out alright in the end.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey there, jealous Athos anon here. I loved what you wrote, sorry it distracted you from sleeping, haha! It's my birthday tomorrow, how would you feel about a little sequel as an early birthday present? Only if you want to, of course.**

_ This is continued from chapter 4. _

 

It’s already dark outside when Milady wakes up, stretching like a cat under the warm soft blanket. “So it wasn’t a dream and neither am I dead.” runs through her head as she sits up, looking for something to wear. 

Her own clothes are mysteriously gone and the only thing she manages to come across is one of Athos’s undershirts. Grinning to herself she slips it on and walks out into the main part of the tent barefoot, her hair a mess, a long shirt barely reaching he mid-thigh, entirely unladylike. She was never a lady in the first place and her husband’s war tent is the least suitable place to pretend to be one. Also, there’s that issue of what pretence did to her. To them.

She finds Athos standing in front of the big table studying some documents, his back to her.

“So you’re awake?”

It’s a silly thing to ask and there’s a nonchalance to his voice they could both do without, but she forgives him as soon as she takes in his guarded posture, refusing to face her, waiting. There are many things they’ve always been good for: passion, sarcasm, trying to kill each other and, she dares to believe, love. Trust - not so much. 

“So you did carry me back into your life this morning?”

She is not the seductress tonight, in spite of what her looks might suggest. There’s no sultriness to her walk, no sensual curve to her back as she circles him and sits on the table, her thigh brushing his. Athos’s shirt she’s wearing rides up even higher, exposing the smooth skin of her hips, but she’s not the seductress, as her hips are bruised in places and there are scratches scattered along her left leg from last night. This is about trust. Her hair is dishevelled in a way that a seductresses hair might end up, but she’s not a seductress, she is a tired woman just out of bed. This is about trust. Her direct question proves above all that she’s not the seductress as the seductresses are all about the mysteries and she is a woman who wants the truth.

Athos is silent for a while studying her, his gaze bores deep into her eyes with want and determination and his hair is a beautiful mess like it always is these days. The light from the fireplace burning behind him highlights his unruly curls weaving flickers into them, and she can’t hep but smile softly at the sight. The temptation to run her fingers through those curls is too strong to resist, so she doesn’t. Athos might believe she needs words from him, but words are meaningless to her, have been for a long time. The way he leans into her touch and closes his eyes at the contact is not. Because it is about trust.

* * *

 

So I might not want to die today.” Milady declares, after what he can only describe as breaking into his tent and flopping down on his bed, never mind the lass sleeping there beside him.

“What?” Porthos tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes and assess the situation at the same time.

“I said I might want to live to see the evening.” She repeats impatiently as the other girl in his bed stirs and stares at the unwelcome guest with horror.

“Porthos, what is this?! I thought you were done you and her?”

He is lost for words, but she is as helpful as ever:

“Oh, don’t worry darling, we are done. In fact I am married so he’s all yours. So will you?”

It registers in Porthos’s mind that the last question was meant for him, but before he can process the meaning the girl cuts in again:

“You only had a fight the night before yesterday - did you get married like in one day?”

“Well, what can I say, I’m spontaneous!” Milady’s smile is free and happy and it earns her a soul from Charlotte, at least that’s what he thinks the girl’s name is.

“Yeah, right, and I am the Queen of France!”

“That is actually way funnier coming from the woman in the musketeer’s bed then you’ll even know, right Porthos?”

“Stop, you two! Now!” Porthos tries to claim the power in the tent, failing miserably as two pairs of eyes stare him down. “Ok, I am sorry, Ladies.” He tries a different approach and they seem to finally grant him some attention. “What is it you want exactly?”

“Your company of course.”

 There’s an annoyed huff from the other side of the bed and Milady rolls her eyes. It’s really hard not to find the situation amusing, but Porthos keeps his face straight:

“For?”

“Just this thing I’m working on.”

“Ok. You know what, I’m out of here!” Charlotte attempts an escape from the bed, but Porthos holds her down easily as she is in fact inappropriately tiny for a woman.

“You’re not dressed and you’re not going anywhere!” He barks and she stills for a second, her pretty faced scrunched up in distaste.

“I’d rather walk around this camp naked then sit here and listen to you two making up!”

Porthos wonders if the silly woman even knows how futile her attempts to wiggle out of his grasp are.

“Please, just please, calm down woman! We’re not making up! She is married, didn’t you hear her!”

“Not like it ever stopped anyone from getting what they want!”

“What do you want?” He begs for an answer, his arms full of angry woman and finally Milady takes pity of him.

“Backup. Captains orders. Meet me by his tent in an hour.”

She finally leaves and Charlotte’s resistance seems to have finally subsided. Who knew this tiny bird has so much fight in her!

Just as he opens his mouth to speak Milady peeks inside the tent once again.

“She’s feisty this one. I like her!” A wide smile and she’ gone, the damn woman, leaving him to deal with a perfect wreck of the morning.

* * *

An hour later she’s already waiting for him by the Captain’s tent, clad in dark leather. Except he doesn’t come alone.

“Captain.” He greets Athos in an official tone, begging his friend to play along with his eyes.

“Morning, Porthos.”

Athos only has eyes for one thing it seems and it’s not him. Even better.

“Meet the Captain and his wife, Charlotte” Porthos tries to stare Milady into submission, but she only has eyes for one thing it seems and it’s not him. Even better.

“Nice to meet you, Captain.”

“Charlotte.” Athos kisses the outstretched hand like a true gentleman.

“Hello again…” Charlotte stutters and Milady helps her out:

“Anne. My name is Anne.”

It doesn’t escape him how tightly Athos’s hand wraps around hers at the mention of her name.

“Anne. Nice to meet you and I apologise for the way I acted this morning.” Charlotte is charming and blissfully unaware of all the history in the air around the couple before her. Even better. “Though your intrusion wasn’t very welcome either so you might consider apologising as well.” She adds and Porthos prepares himself to body block her. Milady is known to be quick and deadly.

“It was too much fun, I couldn’t resist it.” Milady smirks instead of attacking and now it’s her safety Porthos is worried about - judging by the evidence on his back and a bite mark on his shoulder from this morning Charlotte isn't safe to be toyed with either.

“I admit it was pretty fun.” The women share a laugh and Porthos abandons all hope of ever understanding the female kind.

“Should we?” He asks. A nod from Milady and he kisses Charlotte goodbye.

A second later he hears Athos utter quietly as he helps Milady onto a horse:

“Watch yourself for me, would you?”

“I’ll consider it.” Milady teases, but Porthos knows she will and it’s the best news he could have hoped for.

* * *

“So, Charlotte?”

“Yeah.” Porthos is half-surprised himself at the development. “Turns out I like her too.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“You’re kind of perky when you’re happy, you know that? It’s unnerving.”

“Get used to it.”

She spurs her horse on, racing him to the brink of the forest and he is too busy trying to catch up with her to realise he might just be happy as well.  

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**'lo there! :D you're a lovely author, so here ya go, milathos, if you will: post-mission heavy banter/arguing turns into hot 'n'heavy. y'know, the good stuff ^^**

“That went well.” D’Artagnan looks over the crown gold and jewels they recovered and smirks in appreciation. “You know, I thought I’d never say this, but you are proving yourself quite useful here.”

Milady smirks right back at him:

“Oh thank you. You know, I thought I’d never say this, but I’m glad I didn’t kill your wife when I had the chance.”

“Ow, look at them bonding.” Porthos smiles, clapping D’Artagnan on the shoulder. “I told you she was alright!”

“I never had anything against her in the first place.” Aramis says matter-of-factly. “And in that dress she wore earlier today… Now I know what they mean when they say the looks can kill.”

Milady shares a hearty laugh with the group, all of them amused at how easy and natural it is. They have been a team of five for a couple of months now - adopting a stray cat like Milady was a genius move on Treville’s part. Having a beautiful woman on board made their missions more diverse and their tactics more elaborate: they now got to play husbands, brothers, even slave keepers (even though everyone agreed that D’Artagnan did enjoy that one a bit too much for his own good). They got to infiltrate estates, dance at the balls, travel in carriages. They worked a mission in a female-only convent that not only helped them find a known poisoner in their midst, but also served as a main source for jokes about “Milady the nun” for a whole week. And then there was the fighting. Their first objection to having a woman on the team was the constant need to protect her, but Milady just laughed at that notion. After their first fight together the matter was closed. Porthos and Aramis had to have the talk with her about how disabling the enemy is better then killing them, in turn Milady promised to control herself and that was it.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill your wife so that she could live to last week when she came to thank me for something.” She continues, her eyes full of mischief.

“Ok, I’ll take the bait.” D’Artagnan props himself up on the chair. “What was it?”

“Oh… You know how when Constance gets tipsy she becomes quite… talkative…” Milady raises her eyebrows. “And then we got talking about that thing I spent hours teaching you.”

“What thing?” D’Artagnan asks bewildered and suddenly his cheeks turn a deep shade of red. “Oh. She… She thanked you for that?”

“Yes, apparently Bonasieux was not that adept between the sheets… Just like you were before you met me.”

“Oh no, she didn’t just say that!” Porthos is now bent over with laughter.

“No really, Milady, he couldn’t have been that bad, look at those cheekbones and doe eyes! He must have gotten some quite early on!” Aramis teases and D’Artagnan stares at him wide-eyed with horror.  

“Trust me, he was quite clueless.” Milady lets out and another round of laughter follows.

“Right. Laugh. Get it all out! It’s not like I can say anything without coming off like a total jerk in this situation!”

“No, man, you’re ears deep in this!” Porthos cackles, tries to get his breath back to normal, but fails miserably.

“She did leave you framed for murder to be hung after all.” Aramis muses and adds: “Were you any good she would have preferred to keep you around. Why did I never think of this before…” His stoic expression finally cracks and he succumbs to laughter just like Porthos and Milady.

D’Artagnan scoffs at him: “Well I bet no one tried to get rid of you in that fashion did they?”

“No, I’m well worth keeping around.” Aramis winks at Milady. “Just saying.”

“Why do you think I got you out of that dungeon?” her tone is as innocent as ever. “Your decision to become a monk wasn’t really in my plan, but life’s full of surprises.”

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” Aramis fakes a bow. “But I am here now.”

“I’ll go check the perimeter.” Athos voice fills the room and all heads turn to watch him disappear behind the massive wooden door.

The silence is so tense it could be cut with a knife.

“I… I didn’t see him come in.” D’Artagnan’s voice is quiet and hollow. Wary glances are exchanged and finally Milady sighs:

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“That might not be the best idea.” D’Artagnan shakes his head, “I’ll do it.” He gets up to leave when her hand on his sleeve stops him.

“It’s been two months guys. Lets face it - he is not coming round.” The three men share a look and they instantly know she’s right. It can’t go on like this. “This has been… fun. Which is more then I could have ever hoped for.” She admits with raw honesty that as they have learned recently is one of her sharpest weapons. “But maybe it’s not the right fit after all.”

She heads for the door and adds mid-step: “You weren’t that bad, D’Artagnan. I was just kidding. Just so you know.” She flashes him a cheeky smile and he chuckles, but this feels suspiciously like a goodbye. As the door behind her shuts Porthos voices what everyone’s thinking.

“He is not going to handle this right.”

“Not a chance. We’ll be back to a four-men band before midnight.” Aramis says. “But for what it’s worth I will miss her.”

“Me too. Especially after I kill my wife and have no female company left at all.” D’Artagnan jokes, but the mood is broken beyond repair.

* * *

She moves quietly, clad in black leather from head to toe. The stables is not far away and it will only take her several minutes to get her horse ready. Milady regrets the lie momentarily - finding Athos was never in her plan.

It’s an easy routine, getting the horse ready and she’s lost in thought as she hears the painfully familiar voice behind her:

“Going somewhere?”

A dark shadow of a man she once married is standing there watching her and she shivers against her will.

“The plan was to help, not to make your life miserable.” She shrugs. “So I guess I’ll just… see you around.”

Taking the horse by the reigns she attempts to exit the stall, but he’s unmoving, blocking her way.

“You guess you’ll see me around? It’s that easy for you?”

She can tell he’s seething with anger and for once she has no patience for it.

“What do you want me to do, huh? I tried to be your wife, your enemy, your ally, your teammate, your friend - none of those work! Let me go!”

“No.”

“Fine.”

They just stand there for a while. She wonders how he does it, how he pulls off that cold demeanour all the time, never letting her know what goes on in his mind, always having that perfect armour to protect him. She wishes she had it too, but she doesn’t, she’s raw like a fresh wound when he’s concerned.

“Do you know.” He takes a step towards her and his mask disappears as she steps back instinctively, moved by the sheer force of his presence. “How hard it is.” Another step, another retreat. “To be next to you every day?” Step. Retreat. “Every night?” Step. Retreat. Hard wall collides with her back. “Do you have any idea?” Step. His hands land on a wall beside her head,  his body now trapping her, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

“So let me go.” She whispers. There’s nothing left to gain here.

“Do you know how hard it is to watch you joke around with my friends like you are just one of us?” He continues, ignoring her plea. “To see you dance with Aramis? To see Porthos carrying your drunk self home?”

“That was once and…”

“I’m not finished.”

“Oh, am I supposed to just shut up now then?”

“I can’t be near you, Anne.”

He uses her given name and that shuts her up all right. There are unspoken agreements between them and he just broke one of them, so she just stares him in the eye unflinching. His fingers on her cheek surprise her with their softness, tracing the outline of her jaw.

“So let me go.” She says once again, firmer this time.

“No.”

“Why the hell not!” She pushes him hard enough, but he doesn’t move. “You can’t be near me, yet here you are.” She makes a step forward, closing the remaining distance between them, leather on leather, his heat enveloping her, his scent making her head spin. “Is that close enough?” she whispers angrily, their noses almost touching.

“That’s the thing, Anne.” He pushes her into the wall with his whole body and she is on fire, drunk with his overwhelming manliness, his blatant display of power. “It’s never close enough.” He growls and his lips are on her neck, biting her, marking her. Her fingers find their way into his hair immediately as she welcomes the pain of his teeth on her throat.

“What do you want from me, Comte?” she gasps, as his tongue replaces his teeth, soothing her skin.

“Everything.” Her earlobe takes the blame for the word, tortured between his teeth, played by with his tongue. “I want everything. The wife, the enemy, the ally, the teammate, the friend.” His hands lift her up and she wraps her legs around him as he presses even harder into her, breathing out “The lover.”

She bites back a moan. It would be so easy to fall victim to his words, to tilt her head so that his lips find hers and be carried away by the lust that they both are drowning in right now. So easy, but so wrong in too many ways.

“You ask for too much, Athos.” She untangles from him and stands still, her forehead pressed against his shoulder. “There will be nothing left of me when this, whatever it is ends.”

“You’re scared.” He’s hurt and he’s angry. But he needs to understand.

“Yes, Athos, I’m scared. You have this habit of randomly taking things that you think you have the right to and then disposing of them when they bore you or dare to not live up to your expectations. I can’t risk going through that again.”

“I can’t let you go, Anne.” There’s no fight left in him, judging by his defeated tone. “I don’t know what you are - a curse or a blessing, but as you once said, I’m bound to you. As you are to me.”

“I’m neither.” She finds the strength to face him once again. “I’m no more than human. You have this idea of me you hold on to, but that’s not me. This is me.” She takes his hand in hers. Her own are cold and the way he curls his long fingers around hers to warm them up sends a jolt of affection through her heart. “The flesh, the spirit, the mistakes I’ve made and the good I’ve tried to do. The love I harbour for you against my own will, like a condemned prisoner. It really is as simple as that.”

“And you want me to let you go. You want to be set free.”

“I do.”

“You ask for too much, Anne.”

He stands there unmoving for what seems like eternity, holding her hands in his.

“Go.” He says, stepping out of her way.

She studies his face for a moment, and it’s as emotionless as ever. Except his ever-steady hands are trembling as he lets go of hers.

She is unmoving, studying his face and he lets her. She can see the heartbreak behind the mask he’s wearing, as he breaks the silence:

“I thought condemning you to death was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Anne, but this rivals it. Go.” His voice is low and pleading.

She nods and walks up to her horse, turning on her heel the last minute.

“What? You want a goodbye kiss?” He attempts a joke, but his eyes are not laughing.

“I asked you for too much and you gave it to me.” She whispers and her eyes are wide, like dark pools reflected in his. “You asked for everything and I asked for nothing and you gave it to me.” She says once again, her hand sneaking it’s way around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers.

The kiss is slow and languid and It lasts, none of them daring to break it as it becomes salty. Their lips and tongues are busy in a medley dance of their own as their bodies slowly gravitate toward each other, seeking the warmth and the comfort that had been denied for too long. The reverie is broken when her hand pushes at his chest and he withdraws immediately, abiding by her command.

“Fine.” She says cheekily. “Everything it is, but only because you’ve been so generous.”

His eyes widen as he takes in her words, her relaxed posture, her wide smile and her eyes sparkling not only with tears, but with something else entirely as well, something that can only be described as joy.

“You never wanted to leave.” He states matter-of-factly.

“I did at first. But you had me at “everything”,” she confesses, happy and playful and he just wants to strangle her.

The next thing she knows she’s pushed against the wall once again, his fingers wrapped around her neck.

“You’re a vicious vicious woman. I could kill you.”

But the finders around her neck are playful, tender, stroking, teasing and his eyes are laughing.

“Not if you want to keep me around.”

Her smile is sly and that just won’t do. At least that’s how he justifies his attack on her lips that leaves her a quivering mess.

“You will pay.” He warns her, happy with the effect he’s having.

“With pleasure, my Comte.” She purrs and he knows he’s never winning this game.

But maybe winning is overrated after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Milathos one night stand, but something happens meaning they have to see each other again.**

+modern AU

 

That was not how she planned her night to go.  She looked at the man sleeping beside her and threw her head back against the pillow in despair. Un-fucking-beliavable.

She remembers it all too well, both him saying he never wants to see her again and him yesterday in the club, already half-drunk, eyes burning with lust for her, one hand at the small of her back, pushing just hard enough to drive her into him and drive her mad. His lips twisted in hateful accusations and his lips last night, demanding and persistent in the crook of her elbow, on her neck, against her own lips. She remembers this bed that used to be their and ironically it’s their now, but only as a temporary shelter, a reminder of all the things lost, a reminder that a bed is just a bed and what it’s good for, no matter the meaning it holds.  

Her body is sore and without looking she knows she’ll have some bruises left as souvenirs from last night, scattered all over her. They will fade eventually but she’s not entirely sure this, them, ever will. Had that been the case she would have been able to avoid locking eyes with him in the dark of the club, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have hurried to slip her flashy Harry Winston engagement ring off her finger and into the inside pocket of her flashy Balmain jacket .Then she would have been able to tear her hand out of his as he pulled her to the dance floor, she would have been damn able to not let him touch her like it mattered, she would have avoided his lips and his hands and surely she would have avoided their bed that is now his bed and his alone and she’s an intruder in it.

She moves quietly, careful not to wake him, picking her close up from the floor along the way.

Hailing a cab is easy and soon she’s on her way to the Ritz. She checks her phone - it’s 9 am and apparently she’s already missed her morning flight to Paris. That means she’ll have to cancel the dress fitting and push it to tomorrow and move some other things around. Busy with rearranging her schedule she reaches inside her jacket for a ring.

Fuck.

* * *

 

Fuck. 

The door opens almost immediately and there he is, clad in jeans and t-shirt, looking at her. His hair is wet and she stares at him, speechless.

He steps aside, and she brushes past him, entering the room.

“Miss me already?”

“I forgot something.” She says, heading towards the bedroom.

“Something along the lines of telling me you are getting married before falling into bed with me?”

Great. 

“Well you can’t expect me to curl up and die because you were too noble to stay married to the woman who killed your brother. I mean you can wish for it of course, but you can’t actually expect me to do it.”

“You didn’t kill him, Anne. He killed himself.”

As a matter of fact he did. Blaming  her in his note and blowing his brains out was a perfect way to go out with a bang.

“Funny, how I remember you feeling differently about it five years ago.”

“Feelings change.”

“Don’t I know that.” She sounds bitter, but he asked for it. “Can I have my ring back please?”

“Sure. Come here.”

Annoyed, she takes a step towards him and watches in astonishment as he pulls the ring from his pocket and slips it on her finger.

“It’s my ring.” She whispers, looking at her hand. And her ring it is. She remembers throwing it in his face five years ago, right after he told her their marriage was over. “You kept it.”

“I should have held on to the more important things, but yeah. Now you keep it. If you want to of course.”

“Why would I…” She starts, but then it dawns on her. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Too late?”

“Do you have any idea how fucked up this is?” She whispers into his mouth as she closes the distance between them.

“Is that a yes?”

“You asshole.”

She kisses him then.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm in love with your writing! Prompt: Athos gets shot at war, weak and feverish he "dreams" of Milady. It turns out that she's actually there.**

 

He’s been to the ocean once. As a child, his parents brought him and Thomas to Portugal for the whole summer and he fell in love for the first time. He fell in love with the ocean, it’s infinite calm and it’s fiery temper.

The second time he fell in love it was with Anne. He saw her eyes and he saw the ocean in them, blue and green and deep and scary and he was lost.

Now it seems like he is eight again, and he is in the water, waves rocking him, calming him, lulling him to sleep. The ocean is the colour of Anne’s eyes and he calls for her, but she doesn’t answer.

 _“Maybe it’s because she’s in England,”_ he thinks and wonders where he is exactly before he remembers it must be cold in England now and worries for her.  

Sometimes he hears voices coming from far away, vaguely familiar, but the ocean is too loud for him to discern what they are saying. Until one time he hears Anne’s voice and it is louder then the ocean.

“You idiot.” She says and he laughs, because that is exactly something Anne would say if she learned that he got shot.

He got shot? _“Where did that come from”_ , he wonders. In the ocean there os no pain, no getting shot, no war with Spain.

 _“War with Spain? What a strange idea,”_ he thinks, _“there can’t be a war in Spain.”_ The ocean is calm and those strange thoughts are soon gone, replaced with the serenity the ocean promises.

“When you come round I’ll make your life so miserable, you’ll regret not having killed me when you had the chance. You will pay for this, you bastard.” Anne says the next time and he laughs again.

“You’re angry with me.” He answers and for some reason forming words is almost impossibly hard. It’s like he forgot how to talk, being in the ocean for so long. “I’m sorry.” He adds just in case. Anne is here somewhere and if she gets too angry she might leave.

“Sorry for what exactly?” She doesn’t sound angry anymore. Good.

“I love you.” He isn’t sure she knows that. She should know that. “I hope it’s not too cold in England. I worry that you might be cold there.” He explains.

Strange how in all that time he spent here he’s never felt the salt in the ocean water until now.

He is cold himself now. Being in the water for too long would do that to you. Funny how he didn’t know he was cold, until something warm and soft pressed itself to his side. He tries to move, to snuggle close to the warmth and sharp pain shoots through his whole body, making him shudder.

“Shh, don’t move.” Anne’s voice is a whisper now, but it’s still louder then the ocean. He obliges, wondering where the pain came from. It must be from getting shot, he remembers. At war with Spain. That’s strange, but it must be true, because there’s warmth against his chest now as well and he imagines it’s Anne lying next to him. Except he’s not lying anywhere, he’s floating in the ocean isn’t he?

He wonders for a while before an idea crosses his mind. He could take a look, just a peek to see where he is. He never knew it was dark before, but now he realises he can’t see the ocean, not really.

Opening his eyes is a struggle and he moans. The warmth beside him moves and then the pain comes rushing back and he gasps as his eyes shoot open from the shock.

Her eyes are still like the ocean, dark and stormy and wet.

“Shh, don’t cry.” He manages and it’s funny how raspy his own voice sounds.

“I won’t if you promise not to die on me.” She looks like she’s serious and he takes the deal.

“Fine.” He tries to smile and she laughs.

 _“The ocean never laughs”_ , he thinks and he knows he’s not going back there again anytime soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”**

 

“You tried to have me killed! You threatened my girls and made me write a confession, I would be burned at the stake if it was up to you!” Ninon’s eyes are blazing with fury while Milady’s face is impassive as ever.

“And he,” the dark-haired beauty clad in dark green dress motions at Athos, “saved you from said destiny, so doesn’t it cancel it out?” Her eyebrows go up innocently and Athos can’t help but find it amusing.

“Cancel it out? Have you lost your mind? Athos, please explain what is she doing here? What are you doing here?”

“Please accept my sincere apologies for troubling you, Ninon. We’re traveling on King’s business and we need a place to stay for the night. Somewhere quiet, not in a tavern. I understand it might be too much to ask…”

“She owes you her life, it’s not too much to ask.” Milady cuts in and walks past Ninon and into the house.

“Athos, what is she doing here?” Ninon hisses once again and he shrugs.

“She’s on out side now. Also she’s my wife.”

“Your wife? I thought…”

“Long story.”

The house is quite large, but it’s nothing compared to the luxury of Ninon’s mansion in Paris. There’s a fireplace in the living room and Milady settles in front of it immediately, trying to warm up, shivering in her damp clothes. Soon she feels a warm blanket on her shoulders accompanied by a reassuring smile from Athos. He goes on to make polite conversation with Ninon, who talks about her school and her new life, her house, her books. Both of them are busy ignoring the elephant in the room that is Milady and soon she grows annoyed enough to walk out on them. 

“The bedroom is to the right,” Ninon says harshly. “Sleep well, I will not drug you and molest you this time around.”

Surprisingly, Milady lets it slide as she leaves the room and Athos is eternally grateful for her self-control. Alienating Ninon right now is not the best strategy. He is however quite surprised at how tame his wife is: the Milady he knows managed to slip sly remarks past the Cardinal, it’s hard to believe she would just let Ninon get away with something like that… In the mean time Ninon is quite engaged in a conversation and Athos has no polite way of stopping her, so he makes small talk for a bit longer, before excusing himself and hurrying to the bedroom.

Milady seems to be sleeping peacefully and Athos is once again eternally grateful for that: he is exhausted from riding all day and dealing with his temperamental wife is not what he has in mind right now. Relaxed, he snuggles up to her, only to have her shy away from him, creating a layer of cold air between them.

Athos knows he is supposed to ask her if something is wrong, but he is too tired for talking, so he just pulls her back into his arms roughly. A kiss on her neck, his fingers entwined with hers and she’s visibly more relaxed.

“Sleep.” He says. “Tomorrow is a long day.”

Silence. Several minutes later he gives in.

“Tell me.” He brushes her hair away from her neck, placing another soft kiss on her skin.

“We should have stayed in a tavern.”

“It’s not safe and you know it.”

“Not safe is nothing new.”

“And this is new how?”

A soft laugh is his answer. Soon she turns around in his arms, facing him in the dark. 

“She is witty. And beautiful. And smart. And she wants you.”

“Yes.”

“And there’s no darkness in her.” He can hear her breath falter at those words.

“I’m married to you.” He reminds her, pushing her onto her back and settling in the crock of her neck. He hand winds up in his hair, stroking it absent-mindedly and it feels right. Meant to be.

“Don’t I know that.” A smirk, a hearty laugh. A hesitation of her fingers in his hair. “But it’s not like you’re condemned to me… I mean you don’t have to be if you would prefer not to.”

The easiness of her tone is covering up an abyss of mistrust and questions that still lays between them. Easiness has been a bridge for a while. He thinks it might be time for a permanent solution.

“I chose you. And I will keep on choosing you. Do I have to resort to trite romantic declarations now?”

The easiness of his tone is covering up the force that can move the earth itself, closing the abyss for good.

“You are aware that was a trite romantic declaration?” She stretches happily, like her body has been finally set free. In a way it has been.

“Let me sleep, wife.” He smiles into her neck, but his arm around her tightens, confirming that it was indeed the tritest romantic declaration of all. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Prompt: Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?**

 

"Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"

"Your bed looked comfortable. Sleeping with my clothes on is not."

"I remember telling you that I would kill you if I ever saw you in Paris again."

"I remember you telling me you won't attack a defenceless woman."

"I remember that you are never defenceless."

"Even when I'm naked?"

"Especially is the word you're looking for."

"So you are going to attack me?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was planning to get some sleep."

"Do you really think I'm playing this game with you?"

"Is that a sword or are you just happy to see me?"

"Let's try again. What are you doing here?"

"I'm not speaking with a sword to my throat."

"It's that or you die. I wasn't joking, Milady."

"Fine. I die."

"…"

"Come on. Do get on with murdering me and get some rest. You look tired."

"Fuck you, Anne."

"Don't be so upset. You can try to kill me again tomorrow. I will not sneak out in the morning, I promise."

"So you intend to stay?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not happy anywhere else. Are you happy?"

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

"That you are."

"And you are not happy."

"And you think you can change that?"

"I caused it didn't I?"

"A hurricane can't make up for the damage, Anne, it can only cause more."

"Then it's a good thing I'm just a woman, not a hurricane."

"I doubt that."

"I can prove it to you."

"How?"

"By going back to the issue of me being naked in your bed."

"So there is a reason to it?"

"Of course."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"How daft can you be?"

"Are you trying to persuade me your only plan was to seduce me? That's too simple for you, my darling."

"Well, it's been ten minutes and you went from threatening to kill me to calling me darling. I say it's working out perfectly well."

"What do you want?"

"What happened to calling me darling?"

"Don't push it."

"Put the wine down."

"Ordering me around at my own home?"

"Please."

"I'm listening."

"Thank you. On second thought, could I have a sip?"

"Treat yourself."

"You want me to get up and get it?"

"You're not bedridden, are you?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Afraid to look?"

"It's called showing respect. You might not be familiar with the concept"

"I don't care much for your respect."

"Are you just going to stand there?"

"I'm not drinking wine from the bottle and I can't find a glass."

"Damn you, woman."

"Thanks. Damn you too."

"I'll have some as well."

"I don't think so, you've been overindulging lately. I worry for you."

"If you worried for me you wouldn't be in my home. Naked."

"Lets agree to disagree."

"You know what, I'm done. Do whatever. Stay, go, I don't care. I'm going to bed."

"Oh?"

"Don't even count on it. I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Fine. It's your house after all, you can do as you please."

"Except when you are taking over it with your nakedness."

"You can throw me out."

"Wouldn't want you to catch a cold and die."

"Ah, I forgot you were planning on doing the deed yourself."

"Not when you're naked in my bed."

"Seems like I found the safest place in Paris. The floor looks uncomfortable."

"It is."

"Why don't you come to bed?"

"Because there's a poisonous snake there waiting for me."

"You're exhausting I can't believe I married you once."

"You can't believe you married me? What are you doing?"

"I've taken a blanket, I don't think I could handle the floor without it. You can have your precious bed back."

"Are you taking over my floor now?"

"I even left you a pillow, just say thank you."

"Get up."

"No."

"I'm serious."

"Me too."

"Take the bed."

"I sleep where you sleep."

"God, I hope I am drunk and this is another one of those horrific dreams."

"You have dreams about me? Do tell?"

"Where's my sword?"

"I think you left if at the table. You can never find anything on your own, how do you even manage without me."

"This is stupid."

"I completely agree. The floor is extremely uncomfortable."

"Fine. Will you move to the bed if I share it with you?"

"Of course. But…"

"What now?"

"You're not going to sleep with your clothes on, are you?"

"Why are you intent on acting like this is somehow normal?"

"Because I want it to be."

"It doesn't make any sense."

"It does to me. I thought that maybe if we let the past go we could just learn to be us again."

"We were never us in the first place. We were me the fool and you the tramp who played me. That was all it was and it cost me everything."

"If that's what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night. Stop hovering, lie down already. I won't bite unless you ask me nicely."

"And what do you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?"

"That you were as blind to the truth then as you are now."

"There's no truth to you."

"No, not anymore. You made sure of it. Sleep, I'm exhausted."

"Finally you have nothing to say."

"I do, I just don't want to say it."

"Well I don't want to have you naked in my bed, do I?"

"Fine, I will leave."

"Not just yet."

"Let me go!"

"Tell me the truth."

"You're hurting me."

"The feeling is finally mutual. The truth, Anne."

"You don't want to know the truth! It's staring you in the face and you don't see it because you are too afraid to know."

"To know what?"

"That I loved you then and I love you now, you fool! What other reason could I have to be naked in your bed?"

"Plenty."

"Name one."

"…"

"Where are you going? Put down the bloody wine, it will kill you."

"So will you."

"No, not me. Never again. I'm sorry by the way."

"What for exactly? Go back to bed, your feet will get cold."

"For you know… Trying to kill you, threatening Constance. I wasn't going to hurt her, I just wanted a way out."

"You were going to hurt me though."

"Yes, I thought that was what I wanted."

"Wasn't it?"

"I already told you it wasn't. Did you miss the I love you now part? You were right by the way."

"About what?"

"My feet are cold indeed."

"Move over."

"What are you doing?"

"Warming your feet, what else?"

"Why?"

"Do I have to say it out loud?"

"No."

"Good."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prequel 1 to Chapter 6  
> I decided to write this as a prequel to the drabble from Chapter 6. The main concept is explained in Chapter 6 (it should probably be read first) and I’ll be writing the prequel in two parts, answering two asks - this being the Prequel Part 1. I hope this makes sense))))

**Prompt:  I guess I pick #1 "Come over here and make me" of course for Milathos.**

**Prequel Part 1: Come over here and make me**

Her dress is light pink, and she looks so young, innocent, foreign.

“Would you care for a dance, Milady?” Aramis is gallant as ever, and the sultry smile he sends her way as she nods and takes his hand makes Athos’s stomach turn.  

Aramis is dressed up as well and they make a lovely couple, her sharp beauty softened by his easy handsomeness. They exchange smiles once again as the music starts and Athos remembers that she has always adored dancing, and it seems that at least remained unchanged through the years.

“Here, I think you could use this.” Porthos hands him a glass of wine, taken absent-mindedly, soon forgotten due to Aramis’s hand on her back and her happy eyes as they move around the dance floor.

“They sure do look the part.” Porthos’s voice breaks through to him once again. “My turn now.”

Aramis leans into her and whispers something in her ear, his lips lingering dangerously close to her neck as she laughs melodically. They look a touch too engrossed in each other and a couple of heads turn, just as planned. Porthos starts walking towards them, about to start a scene just as planned. Athos stands by just as planned. Aramis pulls her closer, swirling her across the dance floor expertly, her back is arched, her eyes half-closed, she is clearly enjoying herself. Or Aramis. That wasn’t exactly planned.

Nor was it planned that Porthos passes them by, heading to the opposite side of the room instead of breaking them up and drawing all the attention to the three of them while D’Artagnan smuggles the items the King wants from upstairs without anyone noticing. This is a dirty mission - those started to happen quite often since she joined in - it must be the karma or something.

Turns out D’Artagnan got caught up in a conversation with an elderly lady and Porthos hurried to the rescue, shooting Athos a glance. So it’s him making a scene now. Great. Shouldn’t be hard.

Milady and Aramis are completely lost in each other, his gaze caressing her face and body, his hand caressing her fingers and Athos lets some of the anger show as he approaches them on the dance floor. People are watching. Good.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” He says, his head tilted, his eyes blazing with fury that is not as fake as he hopes it to be, “but you seem to have forgotten that you are my wife.”

He isn’t speaking loudly, but it’s enough: people around them stop dancing and stare - it’s not often that such scandal happens in public.

“Well,” She disentangles herself from Aramis’s grip, and eyes Athos with mischief, “Why don’t you come over here and make me remember?”

Their eyes lock and hers are challenging while his are angry as he still has an image of Aramis’s lips grazing her skin on his mind.

He takes a step and the crowd goes quiet, anticipating his next move, so does his wife. Out of the corner of the eye he sees Porthos nod at him - D’Artagnan is nowhere to be seen which means all is going well. Except this. This is hitting too close to home.

He stretches his hand out and she carefully touches her fingertips to his, waiting for him to pull her in roughly. He never does that, treating her hand with care it doesn’t deserve. He takes a step closer instead, and her waist is warm and familiar under his touch. The music never stopped playing, so he starts the dance gracefully, all eyes on them.

This is too familiar, too comfortable, too dangerous because it feels so good. She lets him lead, for once surrendering completely and he never oversteps, never pushes too hard, holding her too lightly for both of their liking, but at the same time it’s a promise, a hint of a possibility of more. Closing the distance between them like Aramis did earlier would be easy, but he doesn’t give into the temptation, and she makes no move to tempt him more. Up close he can see how much she is enjoying this game and this time he has to admit he is enjoying it as well, the beautiful room around them spinning to the music, her relaxed face serving as his anchor, her smell enveloping him. The song ends and D’Artagnan is back in the room, which means their little farce is over.

He takes it upon himself to kiss her hand, his best charming smile firmly in place. It will never be as seductive as that of Aramis, but it is all he has to offer.

“I hope that served as a reminder.” His voice is soft and he hopes she will understand that he actually means it.

“As a reminder of your indifference, no doubt.” Her smile is fake and once again it seems she’s mistaken his regard for the lack of it. He knows the two are easy to mix up, but he is disappointed none the less.

She walks out deliberately, followed by Aramis he stays a while longer and finally drinks some wine. He even dances some more with some other women, just to keep up appearances while his team and her are on the way to the palace, not because he misses the feel of her in his arms.

He knows then that it can’t go on like this, that he will have to come clean to her and then her fate will be in her hands. Truth be told, his fate has been in her hands for years, so it shouldn’t be this hard, but somehow it is.

As he is walking back to the garrison he promises himself to get it over with. She will either want him or not and it’s hight time to face the music.

“They are not here.” Treville says without raising his head from the papers he’s working on. “You pull the aristocrat off white well. Fits you like a glove.” His tone is light, but his eyes are serious and Athos ignores the question beneath the words for tonight.

“Where are they?”

“Celebrating in Red Lion. The King was very generous, just like he has been since Milady joined us.”

“Well he is known to have a sweet spot for her, isn’t he?”

“And I think he’s not the only one.” Treville’s back to work and Athos lets that one biting truth slide as he heads for the Red Lion. 

It’s not exactly a now or never situation, but as he enters the tavern he realises he would certainly prefer the now to never and he is ready.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is continued from Chapter 11: a second part of the Prequel to Chapter 6.
> 
> This is getting messed up, please bear with me.

**Prompt: Wanna bet?**

**Prequel 2: “Wanna bet?”**

He is ready and she is drunk. So is Aramis: his arm is wrapped around her shoulders as they laugh at some inside joke.

“You’re finally here!” D’Artagnan welcomes him with a hug. “More wine for our friend!” He shouts and the waitress hurries to their table.

“I had to stay there and play the part of the forsaken husband, try to drown my sorrow in wine and other women, it was fun.” He jokes, but she is drunk so of course she takes it personally.

“Had they known the truth about what kind of husband you really were, they would run as fast as the skirt would let them” Her finger is pointing at him and it would be quite endearing, if Aramis wasn’t still wrapped around her.

“Easy, tiger,” the handsome musketeer pulls her back into his side. “Everyone had a part to play - he played his and we played ours.”

“You sure used all your talent.” She is relaxed, she is among friends, his friends who are now her friends enough for her to allow herself a true laugh, the kind when she throws her head back and it finds it’s way onto Aramis’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t hard with a partner I had.” She smirks and Porthos cut in:

“Quit it you two, you are disgusting.”

“We are mates, it’s what mates do!” Aramis protests, but his arm is still around her and his fingertips are playing with her hair, and she is just comfortable or drunk enough to let him hold her like this, too close for what’s accepted, too intimate. Apparently Athos is not the only one who notices.

“Yeah? You wanna play with my hair too?”

“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, but I’m up for anything my friend,” Aramis slurs and Porthos drops his forehead onto his hands.

“You’re a disgrace.”

“And you,” Milady sits up straight once again, her finger pointing at Porthos now, “are no fun.”

“And I’m going home.” D’Artagnan announces, but no one really pays attention as Aramis is too busy being the Enfant terrible, Milady is too busy staring Porthos down, Porthos is too drunk to come us with a good comeback and Athos’s eyes are glued to his wife’s fiery expression. “Right. See you tomorrow. I hope.” He adds as he hurries to leave the tavern and the conversation that’s quickly gotten too tense for his liking with Athos’s return.

“And you made him leave!” Porthos finally exclaims, happy he found a way out.

“He left because he has a wife to come back to. Unlike any of you.” She slumps back into Aramis’s waiting arms and takes another gulp of the wine.

“That’s actually quite sad.” Aramis adds, drinking from his own cup, unaffected by the angry stare Athos is giving him.

He is pretty sure she is doing this on purpose, provoking him, waiting for his reaction, but it doesn’t make it easier to watch her drunk self being held by the most famous womaniser in Paris. The womaniser who is supposed to be his friend, who is supposed to know how he feels, but who obviously doesn’t seem to care right now. Or maybe he finally has everyone fooled he truly doesn’t care.

When the idea of her joining in with the crew was brought up it was D’Artagnan who resisted the most and even through internally Athos wanted to scream “no” he merely shrugged and ignored the discussion, hoping it would go away. It didn’t.

When Porthos voiced everyone’s concern about her not being able to fight on par with them all he wanted to say was that it was an idiotic idea from the beginning, that she was indeed capable, but he would be probably useless in a fight now, watching her at all times. Not to mention a torture to would be to be near her. He smirked at Porthos’s words instead, hoping that they will rethink their decision after all. They didn’t.

When they discussed the plan for the operation at the ball Aramis suggested dancing and they needed two men to play the parts of a lover and a husband. Athos really wanted to say that he’d be fine playing both parts as he couldn’t bear to see her in someone else’s arms, but instead he just stuck to instructing D’Artagnan, hoping the plan would somehow come together without him involved. Once again, it didn’t.

And now everyone seems to think he is fine with the situation, not that he can blame them. It must be quite hard to decipher all shades of his grumpiness, even though she is behind almost each and every one of them.

“It is sad.” Porthos confirms and finishes his wine. “I say we call it a night before you two fall asleep all over each other and we will have to carry you both home.”

The image of him carrying Milady home is stuck in Athos’s head and he hopes that they would all agree to Porthos’s wise suggestion. They don’t of course.

“Are you saying,” Milady’s eyes twinkle playfully, “That you two,” she looks between him and Athos, “can hold liquor better then we can?”

“I…” Porthos tries to stop her from luring him into this, but Aramis is too drunk to support him.

“You know what, I think he does.”

“Wanna bet?” Her face is that of pure excitement, like it is a childish game she is offering.

“I have Athos on my team, do you really wanna get into this?” Porthos twists his moustache in mock arrogance.

“He’s a drunk, he’ll probably go down first.”

Athos wants to say he’d take no part in this, but… He doesn’t.

“Wine!” Aramis calls and it is on.

A couple of hours later Aramis is snoring on the table.

“I take it…” Porthos slurs, “That we win.”

“What were the rules?” Milady’s eyes are glazed, but she is still sitting upright. “We should have… established that… it’s one for all… or what is that thing you say…”

“And all for one.” Athos helps her. Speaking is not easy, but he feels the most comfortable of them all - he’s been in this state too often.

“So I must be… I must… be enough.” She states and holds her cup out for another portion of wine and Athos is not sure she’ll make it out alive if she keeps this up.

“Aramis is down, you… can’t fight us both.” Porthos’s voice of reason is blatantly ignored by her impatiently shaking the cup.

Athos desperately wants to stop this and maybe because he is already too drunk he does exactly that.

“I’m out.” He says and gets up as gracefully as he can. “I give in.”

“No!” She cries juts as Porthos cries “Thank God” and tries to get up as well, failing miserably. “Really, Milady I can’t take it anymore. You win.”

“Honest?” Her drunk stare is angry, but Porthos is pitiful enough for her to believe him. “Good, because I don’t think I can stand up.” She informs them nonchalantly, her cheek held up by her hand in mock despair. She is a cute drunk and she knows it.

“I’ll carry you.” Athos suggests, but her eyes are fixated on Porthos who seems to have found a semblance of balance on his feet.

“I’d rather a friend carried me. You,” she finally looks at him, “are not a friend.”

It stings even through the drunken haze he’s in, but he ignores it. Porthos scoops her up easily and heads for the exit, his walk uneven, but not enough for them both to fall over.

“I’ll accompany you.” Athos suggests just in case they do fall over.

“Where exactly are we going?” Porthos asks her once they are outside. “I have no idea where you live.”

“And I’m not telling you, so I guess we’re going to your place.” She smiles at him before closing her eyes and seemingly drifting off.

“Right. I just love a good old sleep on the floor thing.” Porthos scoffs, heading in the direction of his apartment.

“Then we both stand to win.” She mutters with her eyes still closed and smiles with a tiny smile that Athos just wants to kiss off her face then and there.

He walks with them and makes sure they don’t fall over instead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Milady finds out Athos and Ninon are getting married and confronts him just before the ceremony for whatever reason you like**

  

“You do remember you are already married to me.”

The voice startles him - her ability to be silent like a serpent is still extraordinary in spite of the new life she’s been living. Without turning around he knows she’s dressed impeccably, like she was on that day in London a year ago. She was accompanied by her soon-to-be husband, a smile on her face and her eyes happy. He would have approached her then, but her eyes were happy, so he didn’t. 

He wonders why she would approach him now of all times. Maybe his eyes aren’t as happy, or maybe she has no regard for him at all, or maybe she is clueless which is hard to believe, but not entirely impossible. 

“That didn’t stop you. A couple of times if I recall correctly.”

He does turn around and she is as dashing as he was afraid to imagine. It’s strange to him that beauty comes in so many forms - while Ninon’s beauty is of perfect proportions and delicate features, Anne’s is that of perfect imperfections, of softness rivalling the sharpness of her character that is peeking through, playing hide-and-seek with anyone who’d look upon her. He could never stop admiring Anne and now he knows why - because of the shape-shifting constantly taking place, enthralling like the dancing flames of fire, like the constant roll of water against the shore. 

She doesn’t grace his attack with response, smiling instead and coming closer, standing between him and the captain’s desk. His wedding is tomorrow, but they are in the middle of a slow-burning war with Spain so his duty requires him to be present at all times.

“I lied you know.” Her fingers are now playing with a knife she picked up from his desk and his eyes are glued to her fingers, watching them closely. An expensive dress and impeccable hair don’t change the fact that she is an assassin.

“I am well aware. Which instance are you referring to?”

“When I said I was bound to you as you are to me.” She puts down the knife, catching his strained stare. “Sometimes one says things they wish to be true, but in the end it’s just another lie.”

“Why are you here?” 

He wants to tell her that her lie was true, at least he believed it to be true then and he still believes it to be true now. He wants to tell her he came to the crossroads. He wants to tell her he still has her glove hidden among his most treasured belongings. He wants to tell her he saw her last year in London with her fiancé and her happy eyes, but there’s no point. She has moved on and it’s his turn to because no man can take living a shadow of a life for so many years. She is free, she is not bound to him anymore and it’s better of she believes him to be free of her as well. In a sense he is. That day in England he let her go. He didn’t want to, but her happy eyes made him. She would always be a part of him, but she doesn’t need to know that, as she for once seems to be free of the weight of them. 

“To congratulate you on your marriage of course. And to rid you of any… To tell you I lied and you are truly free as am I.” Her fingers find the knife again, but let it go as soon as she catches herself fumbling with it. “You may find it unnecessary, but I wanted to…”

“Thank you.” His heart beats faster then it should, as it dawns of him that her approaching him today holds the same meaning for her as not approaching her in England held for him. Letting go. Except she did it a while ago and is just making sure he knows that. It is… nice of her. “It’s very thoughtful of you. I accept your congratulations. Though I probably shouldn’t pass them on to Ninon.”

“No, you probably shouldn’t.” She smiles, relieved that the moment is over.

She’s gone as suddenly as she appeared and soon there’s nothing to prove she was ever here, but a whiff of jasmine in the air and the dull ache in his heart

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell happened?” This time she makes sure she announces her presence as he hears her steps before she even enters his office.

She is dressed in travel clothes now, her carriage must be waiting outside, waiting to take her back to England, to her life, to her husband.

“Nothing that should concern you.” He is angry with her, but he wouldn’t show it, indifference is his shield from her and it is the most effective weapon at the same time. So he pretends to be busy with some papers, hoping she will leave soon and for good this time.

“Are you sure?” She in now staring at him across the table, her breath quickened, her cheeks flushed. Seems she’s angry as well, not that there’s a reason for her to be.

“Is there any particular reason you are so wound up about this? Were you looking forward to the wedding dinner that much? I don’t recall you being invited.”

“I was looking forward to… You know what, Athos, you are right. Your affairs and your cancelled wedding don’t concern me in the least, why would they?”

“You just had to show up, didn’t you?” He growls as she turns to leave, making her stop dead in her tracks.

“I’m sorry?” His wife is seated across the table from him instantly, her gaze intense.

“I don’t mean to…”

He’s struggling to find words to explain to her how her visit ruined everything. How he came to see Ninon later that night and she just knew. How she held him and told him she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t keep wondering about his Anne. His Anne, that’s how she put it. She couldn’t have been more right. He wished he had never told Ninon about Anne, but starting fresh meant being honest with her, she deserved that. And she was gracious about it, she was willing to let him make her happy, she was willing to marry him and start a real family and put it all behind them until that night. Until she saw something in his eyes and  realised that she couldn’t. That he would never make her truly happy, because he’d never be truly free of his Anne and she’d never be wise or unwise enough to ignore that.

That night changed everything once again, but it wasn’t Anne’s fault, it was his heart’s fault and he should have learned not to put the blame for the actions of others or of his own heart on Anne by now.

“I didn’t mean that.” He makes himself say in an even voice and feels the indifference slip back onto his face.

“You sure sounded like you did.” She sighs and her face is defeated.

He has nothing to say to that. There’s no tension in the room as they sit there eyeing each other, past seemingly behind them, or behind her at least.

“She changed her mind.” His voice is hollow and Anne is the last person he should share it with, but she might just be the only one who would understand. “She didn’t believe me to be free of you and she didn’t believe I could make her happy.”

“Ah,” now it’s her who has nothing to say. “I’m sorry, Athos.”

“Me too.” He doesn’t hear any falseness in her tone and it’s comforting enough to make him lower his guard. “Did you ever tell your husband?”

Her eyes go wide and he specifies: “About us, I mean. Did he not know or did he make a choice to marry you nevertheless? Or did he believe you were truly free of me, something I couldn’t make Ninon believe in?”

“I told him.” She admits, licking her lips nervously. “He… He believed I was truly free of you.”

“Good.” Athos is relieved. Deep inside he believes Ninon was right. Seeing Anne again shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, and maybe the feelings he has for her would never go away, but it’s his problem. He knows now not to entangle other people in this, it can never end well for anyone.

“He believed it, but I didn’t.” Milady continues and Athos feels his world shudder at her words. It’s hard to believe she’s just said it, but she goes on: “There was a day, right before the wedding,” her smile at the memory was warm, “we were out in London and I’d heard the french King was visiting and I thought that maybe the musketeers would accompany him and maybe you would be there. And I even thought I saw you on the street at some point, and I was so happy. It was silly, you had made your choice and I knew that, but I felt happy anyway. And then I knew I couldn’t marry the man and keep lying to him and myself for the rest of my life, so…”

“You’re not married?” The room spins out of control, but the only thing anchoring him is her eyes, her lips. He should probably tell her he was indeed in London that day, she did really see him, but there’s no time now that he knows her eyes were happy because of him, not the fiancé, there’s no time and he just longs to hear her next words, the words that could bring all those burnt bridges back up.

“I’m a spanish spy.”

The words hit him like a bucked of icy water and he jumps to his feet in indignation:

“What?! Are you completely out of your mind?”

“What else did I have to live for?” She throws a familiar phrase at him and it pains him as much as the last time. “I’m not exactly welcome here and England is boring while Spanish pay well for the information and I get to stay on top of things. You know how politics excite me.”

“We’re in a middle of a war, Anne, do you realise that if anyone finds out you’re dead?”

“I’m kind of used to living that way, but it’s nice to know that for once you seem to care about my life more then your principles or duty to France.”

“That’s because I know you have neither principles not duty, but by some miracle you still have your life.”

“Barely.” She smiles and stands up as well. “The spy thing could work two ways if you wanted it to.”

“Are you offering to be a double-agent? It’s double the danger, Anne.”

“And double the excitement.” Her eyebrows go up playfully and he is smirking at her carelessness. This woman really is something. “Since neither of us can marry in peace we should find something else to entertain us in the meantime.”

“So you lied.” He steers the conversation away from politics, having no desire to fight with her over it right now.

“I am well aware. Which instance are you referring to?” She mocks him with his own words and it’s more exiting and dangerous then the whole war around them.

“The night before my wedding. When you said we were free of each other.”

“Of course I did.”

“Old habits die hard?” it;s his turn to mock her this time, for lying, but it’s the reason behind the lie that takes his breath away, not that he’s willing to show it yet.

“Or don’t die at all?” The look she’s giving him lets him know she is not talking about the lying, but about the reason for the lying, the same reason that fills his heart with hope for the first time in years. He smiles at her then, openly, and her eyes are happy once again.

“Or don’t die at all.” He confirms, circling the table and pulling her into his arms. “We have to discuss your spying, Anne.” His eyes are happy too now, but he tries to keep his tone serious.

“Later.”

He should object to that. He should really object to that because her spying is an important issue. He should. But he doesn’t just yet because she is not married and she is kissing him and the world seems brighter and it’s really not that important. It can wait. Probably. It will have to, anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is continued from chapter 1 and chapter 2. Part 3 of the sexy series ;)

**Milady and athos secretly taking about their sex life through innuendo in front of the musketeers and only aramis knows what's going on**  

 

“Athos, hurry! There’s been a break-in!” D’Artagnan rushed into his office and Athos winced at the unwelcome intrusion of his overzealous young colleague.

“I have dreary captain duties now, D’Artagnan, could you send someone else?”

“You don’t understand, there was a break in at your house!” D’Artagnan manages between breaths and Athos is on his feet within seconds.

“Get Porthos and Aramis! Now!”

They take the horses and ride through the busy streets of Paris, scaring the people out of the way. Athos shudders when he sees the door to his house wide open, apparently broken from the force it was kicked in.

“Shit.” Porthos says, getting of the horse. “Who would do this, Athos?”

“Let’s go in and find out.” The new captain grumbles and enters the house. His musketeers follow.

It’s deadly quiet inside and they crawl through the corridors of the small mansion Athos was granted by the King not long after he was named Captain.

“Honey, you home?” Athos tries, and Aramis raises his musket, ready to shoot at the sound. When the answer comes the voice is unexpectedly feminine and unmistakably Milady’s.

“I am actually, sweetheart.” She muses and Porthos bites back a laugh, an action shared by his friends. It’s not everyday one hears Athos being called “sweetheart” and they savour the moment.

Athos relaxes immediately, relieved to hear her mocking voice. “In the bedroom!” She shouts and they go up to a large sunlit room and there she is, a man on his knees beside her.

“And I got you something.” She adds with a cheeky smile right before Athos comes up to her and envelops her in a bearhug.

The three musketeers averts their eyes at that blatant display of affection. Standing there in the middle of the bedroom wrapped up in each other Athos and the famous assassin look like a normal pair and it’s entirely abnormal and baffling so they look away. This would take a lot of time to get used to.

They look at the walls, at each other, anywhere but the couple until D’Artagnan notices Aramis’s stare is glued to the man on his knees. He shoots his friend a questioning look, but Aramis doesn’t notice it, a strange expression settling firmly on his face.

Athos lets Milady go and turns to the prisoner, and his face changes as well.

“And the blindfold? Really?” He looks at his wife, clearly amused, as Aramis starts turning red - a sight neither D’Artagnan, not Aramis have ever witnessed before.

“I came home to have some rest and he was going through you personal notes… I used what I had.”

“And you had quite the arsenal, I see, the shackles, the gag, the collar…” D’artagnan can see the thief is indeed bound, his mouth gagged, his eyes covered by a blindfold and there’s a leather choker on his neck, tightened just enough to let the man take the shortest breaths. Weirdly, Aramis’s breathing is not much better.

“You alright man?” Porthos notices his friend’s discomfort, and Aramis nods “yes”, gulping and turning an even deeper shade of red.

“I was particularly upset about using the collar on him as you can imagine, that’s our thing after all.”  Milady purrs and Athos smirks at her while D’Artagnan and Porthos exchange glances. It’s beyond their understanding how she can still taunt Athos about the hanging and how he can find that even remotely funny.

“Did you use the crop as well?” he asks and it’s time for another exchange of glances between Porthos and D’Artagnan and another sharp intake of breath from Aramis.

“No, thank god I didn’t have to, that one I’m particularly partial to.”

“What does the crop has to do with this?” Porthos whispers and D’Artagnan shrugs:

“Who even keeps a crop and all that stuff in the bedroom?” He whispers back and Aramis snaps.

“I take it you are all red… right here and we can go?” He stumbles with words and Porthos steps in:

“He’s been breathing funny, I think he is unwell. We’ll take him outside.”

“Sure. Take the thief in for questioning as well, we have some matters to discuss here.” Athos’s voice is even while Milady eyes Aramis with malice in her stare. Aramis just gulps.

“We’ll take care of it,” D’Artagnan lifts the thief onto his feet, only to find out his feet are tied together with a chain.

“Sorry about this.” Milady looks up at her husband, who is on the verge of either having a fit of fury or laughing out loud. At that point Aramis flees the room.

“Must have eaten something funny.” Porthos tells D’Artagnan while they drag the criminal down the stairs.

“Yeah, he looked rather flustered up there, we should check up on him when we’re done.”

Aramis is outside, waiting for them and he doesn’t look as unwell as before.

“I have an idea.” Porthos smiles smugly as they load the burglar onto a horse.

“Tell me.”

“I say we get him to prison and return the blindfold and the collar to Athos,” Porthos beams, “it seems there’s a story to them so he might want them back.”

“Trust me Porthos,” Aramis rolls his eyes, “he won’t want them back.”

“How do you know?” D’Artagnan mounts his own horse, “It seemed important enough.”

“I can’t do this sober,” Aramis moans, “Lets get this over with and then I’ll explain. Maybe. Or not.”

“Alright, no need to be so touchy about it.” Porthos says amicably and exchanges another look of complete misunderstanding with D’Artagnan.

Aramis just throws his head back in annoyance and tries to cheer himself up imagining the look on their faces when he tells them. That does it and he’s cheerful once again.

“Ok, let’s get it on! I mean… Let’s get on with it!” He says and sets off, the horse with the criminal on it by his side.

“He’s acting weird” Porthos frowns, knowing nothing good may come if it.

“You don’t say.” D’Artagnan spurs his horse on and soon they catch up with Aramis who is grinning widely.

“Hurry up guys, there are great discoveries ahead of us!” Aramis says cockily as they ride off to the garrison all together, two of them completely unaware that their life might just change irrevocably tonight.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is continued from chapters 4 and 5

**Ok so maybe a continuation of one of your drabbles where the war is still going on and in the midst of everything Athos and Milady are blessed with the child they thought they would never had and I would love for it to be a girl**

 

5 months later.

“I can’t believe we’re still out here.” Porthos slams his wine cup on the table. “It’s like this war will never end.”

“It’s politics, Porthos.” Athos says. “But the good news it it might be over for us sooner then you think.”

Porthos looks at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh, get that away from me.” Milady winces before Athos has a chance to answer.

Charlotte pushes the plate with onion soup away from captain’s wife and towards Porthos. “Eat,” she says, “It’s good.”

“I know it is, darling.” Porthos tries the delicious soup and turns to Athos again. “So?”

“I received a letter from Treville. The King is considering bringing us back to Paris. The war is at a stage when we’re more needed at his side. Elite guard because he can afford it. As I said, it’s politics.”

Milady nods. “Going back to decent food and a real bed. Sounds great, Athos, I think I’ll be coming along for that.”

“I’m not sure, Milady. Your demands are growing every day. I seem to recall you having no bed at all for a while.”

“And I seem to recall you having no wife at all for a while.” She throws a chicken bone at him and he ducks, barely escaping it.

“Thank god that “while” is over.“ He says tenderly and smiles at her like she is his while world which Porthos knows she is.

He has to look away because their eyes lock and it seems like the time stops around them. It’s been happening a lot in the past five months, but it’s hard to get used to as those moments are more intimate then any kiss they could have shared in public and the pair of them aren’t even aware how uncomfortable they make everyone. He feels Charlotte’s hand reach for his and wonders what will happen to them should he be relocated back to Paris.

"I’m not sure, Athos. I might still reconsider.” Milady taunts her husband, but her sultry smile turns into a grimace once again. “What IS that smell? I can’t even…” She rushes out and Athos looks after her, worried.

“I’ll go,” Charlotte gets up to follow her. “She doesn’t look too well.”

The men are left alone at the table. Porthos finishes his soup and sets the plate aside. “Going back sounds good, Athos. We could all use a rest and a normal life for once.”

Athos sighs. “It’s not set in stone yet, it’s merely a possibility. One I would love to take because my wife insists on being a french spy and I have no way of stopping her without getting into a fight.”

Porthos smirks. “Women.”

“Indeed.”

They continue eating and soon Milady is back, accompanied by Charlotte and looking a little green.

“Wine. I need wine.” She announces and Athos reaches for the wine.

“Here,” he says, pouring her a glass, “I’m not sure it will help, but it might make you feel better.”

She smiles weakly and reaches for the cup. “Thank you, husband. Can we move back to Paris already? I can’t take this anymore, I feel like I’ve been unwell forever.” She whines and both Athos and Porthos are visibly surprised because Milady never whines. Apparently things change.

As she brings the cup to her lips Charlotte is strangely fidgety. “I’m sorry,” she says carefully, “but should you really?”

Porthos braces himself up for a fight. You never question Milady’s choices. You just don’t do it. If she wants to get drunk you let her and then carry her back to her tent, or, as of last few months, her husband’s tent. Not that he ever had to carry her there - Athos has that privilege now. He does it quite often - not that she’s drinking a lot - apparently carrying her into his tent is some kind of a thing - not that they’d ever tell him.

Milady’s eyes flash as fiercely as he expected them to. “Charlotte, It’s my body, I decide what I should and shouldn’t do with it. Let’s never do this again.”

She brings the cup to her lips once more, but Charlotte is relentless. “Well it’s not just your body now, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Milady frowns and Porthos notices Athos stops breathing for a bit.

“I mean it’s bad for the baby,” Charlotte says and sighs, “I know it’s not my place but…”

Milady interrupts her, her voice small. “What did you just say?”

Charlotte is staring at her wide-eyed, but before she has a chance to answer Milady turns to Athos who looks as dumbstruck as she is. “What did she just say?”

“I believe she said wine is bad for the baby.” Athos tries to keep it together, but his eyes are shining. “Now breathe.” She does. “And put down the cup.” She does.

“I…” she starts, but stops and shuts her mouth, not knowing what to say.

Athos smiles at her. “Breathe.” His voice is soft and the air around them is electric as it slowly sinks in.

Charlotte giggles, breaking the magic. “Wait… you didn’t know?” She manages to say before giggling again. “Anne, you’ve been sick for weeks, how could you not know?”

“I…” Milady starts again, “I don’t know.” She mutters, holding onto Athos’s hand as if it is her only anchor in the world. Her shoulders shake as she clamps a hand over her mouth, trying to control herself and Porthos looks away once more, because Milady crying is not something he is prepared to see in this life. The muffled sounds she’s making don’t resemble crying too much so he looks up to see her finally crack and laugh out loud. “We’re terrible parents already!” She cries, trying to catch her breath, but fails and gives in to laughter once more and this time Athos joins in, surprising everyone because it’s a known fact that he never laughs. Apparently things change.

He is laughing hard with her, as if they aren’t in the middle of nowhere in a tavern near the war camp, as if people aren’t dying every day, as if they are young and free to laugh like this. “We’ll have to do better.” He manages to say before another wave of laughter overcomes him. Porthos and Charlotte find themselves laughing as well because the happiness is palpable in the air.

Finally Athos calms down enough to say: “You know what this means right?”

Milady rolls her eyes at her husband seriousness. “That we’re moving back to Paris tomorrow I hope?”

He smiles, but his gaze is firm. “Not quite yet, but in the meantime it means no spying.”

“Are you serious?” Milady frowns and he draws a breath to protest. “As is I could care less about this war right now! I’m not even going to walk anywhere by myself, you’ll have to carry me around everywhere.”

He smiles and corrects her: “Both of you.” And Porthos can swear he has never seen Athos happy before. Now, sitting before him in a shitty tavern in the middle of the war is a man with future shining in his eyes. “I’ll have to carry both of you around.” He repeats and Milady blinks the tears away.

But that kind of crying Porthos doesn’t mind seeing one bit.

He shuffles in his seat. “I had a part in this. I get to be the Godfather so I can teach the kid some discipline. And honest ways. And fighting. And cards.”

Athos gives him a look and stands up, bringing Milady up as well. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to excuse ourselves.” He scoops her up in his arms and continues, looking at Porthos: “We’ll negotiate the terms of your Godfathering tomorrow.”

 


End file.
